


How Long Will I Love You?

by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, I promise, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Steve dies (sort of), Stony is endgame, Thank god for Bucky, only very slightly, tony dies (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/justanotherrollingstony
Summary: How long will I love you? Until it kills me.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 334





	How Long Will I Love You?

It starts with a tickle in the back of his throat, a flutter of muscle and then a cough, like something is stuck and his body is trying to dislodge it. 

Except, he’s never choked before. Never even had a cold or a cough or allergies after the serum. 

He coughs again, harder this time, and then three more times and when he gets out of his too big, too soft bed, it’s still dark out, late enough to be called pre dawn, and he’s barely slept at all.

Water soothes it, but now he’s awake—not that he was getting much sleep before while reviewing footage of his last training session with Tony. He’d made Tony laugh with a joke about condoms and how his star spangled suit looked a little too much like a patriotic rubber for his taste—and Tony had _laughed,_ full throated and deep from his belly, eyes bright with delight. 

He coughs again, huffing in frustration that this irritation won’t go away. He sips more water and stares at the holoscreen where the video is paused on Tony’s smiling face—fine lines around his eyes betray his age, but Steve thinks it makes Tony more handsome. 

With a sigh, he shuts off the projection and pulls on running gear, throwing on a cold weather jacket and wool beanie for good measure—it’s cold and windy and raining out, and while he doesn’t like any of those things, he can’t stay here and stare at training video all night. 

He runs and runs and runs, till he’s soaked in sweat and rain, shivering as the sun peaks over the edge of the skyline. He watches it as he rides the elevator back up the tower to his suite, the hot air blasting out of the vents warming him so his skin isn’t quite so icy. 

The doors to the elevator open on his kitchen and he pauses when he steps out, brow furrowing at the sight of a deeply rumpled and grease stained Tony sitting at his kitchen bar, staring down into his coffee like it might hold the answers to the universe.

He coughs. 

Tony’s head comes up and they stare at each other for a long moment, and then Tony smiles—exhaustion paling his normally golden skin and making his lips tremble. “Hey, sorry, I was out of coffee in the lab and at my place. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Steve shakes his head and strides over, unzipping his jacket as he goes, peeling it off his skin with a grimace of distaste. The beanie goes too and he shudders at the warm air on his cold skin, but works up a smile for Tony anyway. “Not a problem Tony, you’re always welcome here,” he murmurs, waving a hand around to encompass the room. 

Tony nods and smiles half heartedly, “Thanks. What’s got you up and out so early?” he asks, voice rasping and low. His shoulders are hunched forward and Steve wonders for a moment when he last slept. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers, moving on autopilot to gather what he needs for a protein shake and a filling breakfast. “Watched training video for awhile but, I uh, just needed to get out,” he explains. 

Tony doesn’t respond and when he looks over from where he’s cutting up fruit, he finds that the other man is staring a hole through the countertop, eyes glazed over and distant. He considers trying to break that intense concentration, but instead decides to leave Tony in peace and quiet while he cooks. 

It’s not uncomfortable, the silence, not exactly, but every time he looks up at Tony, his brow furrows a little more. The other man looks exhausted and….broken? Steve thinks maybe that’s what’s in his eyes, a brokenness, a sorrow of some kind. 

When he sets a plate full of fruit and bacon and eggs in front of Tony the other man startles and looks up at him with wide eyes, as though he’s surprised to see Steve. He smiles softly at Tony and takes his empty coffee mug away and gently replaces it with a shake. 

“Eat up,” he encourages, lips twitching into a fuller smile when Tony obeys and picks up his fork. He watches the other man eat for a moment, satisfaction warming his chest, filling it till his ribs hurt from the pressure. Tony very rarely lets anyone else take care of him, rarely asks for help either—so Steve treasures these moments where his teammate and friend will allow him to help. 

Steve coughs.

They eat in relative silence, but Steve’s gaze lingers on Tony the whole time. By the time Tony finishes eating his eyes are hooded and the exhaustion in his shoulders is bowing them forward, as though he can no longer bear the weight of the world. 

Steve washes the dishes while Tony sits, staring at the counters. 

“Pepper left.”

The plate in his fingers slips and clatters against the sink, startling them both. He picks it up again with shaking fingers and shoots a glance at Tony. “I’m sorry Tony,” he murmurs, “is there, uh, anything to be done about it?” 

Tony laughs mirthlessly and shakes his head, and when he looks up and meets Steve’s gaze, his eyes are pits of despair, too bright and shining with sorrow. 

“I can’t give her what she wants. Iron Man and I are one, it’s not just a suit of armor. She wants it to be a thing I can just stop doing, but I—I don’t know how.”

Tony makes a soft choked sound and covers his face with shaking hands. “I fucked it up Steve,” he murmurs unevenly, voice rasping and thick, “just by being me.” When Tony’s shoulders hitch and Steve hears a strangled sob he abandons the dishes and hastily wipes his wet and soapy hands off on his shirt. 

His hand hovers over Tony’s shoulder for a moment before landing and they both shudder at the contact. He’s…he’s not very good at this, but he’ll try, for Tony. 

Moving in slow, wide circles, he rubs Tony’s back. “Tony, you being you have saved the world more than a few times. You stopped manufacturing weapons and brought on a new green energy revolution— _you_ did that. You’re going to be saving the world long after you’re alive, and people will know that Tony Stark wasn’t just Iron Man, he was a _good_ man.”

Tony shudders hard and Steve can feel his breath hitching beneath his palm, the way he’s trying not to cry, trying to hide his pain, and it makes Steve’s chest hurt and his throat feel too thick. 

He coughs. And coughs again, and then once more. 

Sliding his hand up to rest at the base of Tony’s neck, he rubs his thumb along the arc of Tony’s throat, feeling his pulse under his fingers. Tony is always so very _alive_ —he’s bright and loud and dynamic and it had unnerved Steve at first, to meet someone so very alive when he felt half dead inside. 

“You’re a good man Tony, the world needs you in _and_ out of the suit.”

He squeezes Tony’s neck and is surprised when the other man reaches up, worn and calloused fingers wrapping around his wrist, holding his hand there against Tony’s neck. 

Tony lifts his chin and gives Steve a watery smile, breathing a little unsteadily. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I wish I could be the man you see,” he admits softly and something in Steve’s chest aches and he longs to pull Tony into a hug, to hold him close till that brokenness heals.

He coughs and Tony frowns, but Steve cuts off the questions he knows are coming by smiling sadly at the other man and giving his neck another gentle squeeze before letting his hand slip away. 

“You _are_ that man Tony. You are.”

Tony stares at him for a moment and then smiles, but it’s not a good smile, it’s a mask and Steve hates it. “Sure thing Cap,” he agrees, nodding, even though it’s clear he doesn’t actually agree. He slides off the stool he’s been occupying, unsteady for a moment, and then he’s backing away towards the elevator, fake smile in place. 

“Gotta go, thanks for the breakfast and the pep talk. A plus, 10 out of 10 would recommend to a friend,” he jokes, voice just barely unsteady, smile quivering for a moment before he’s stepping into the elevator and disappearing behind a wall of steel.

Steve stands there, staring at the place where Tony had sat until his eyes burn and his throat goes dry and suddenly he’s bowing forward and coughing so hard he can barely catch his breath.

When it subsides, his heart is pounding and he tastes copper in his mouth. He lifts a shaking hand to his lips and wipes, exhaling hard when his fingers come away streaked with blood. 

Something is very, _very_ wrong. 

* * *

The cough comes and goes in varying degrees of intensity, and Steve takes to carrying hankies with him so he can duck into another room and muffle himself when he’s with the team. He’s sure that Natasha has noticed, and Clint too, and while they don’t say anything, he can _feel_ their gazes lingering on him, questioning silently.

Tony spends too much time alone in the lab, emerging after days of solitude, grey faced with exhaustion and shaking from hunger. Steve makes sure he’s fed before guiding him to the nearest soft surface to sleep, heart aching for his friend. 

His cough grows more frequent, more intense, but he hides it as best he can, shaking off questions by attributing it to the cold winter air, the dryness, the wind, anything to keep his teammates from looking too closely and asking questions he doesn’t have answers to. 

He wakes up one morning, three months later, and finds that Pepper has returned. He’s gone up to ask Tony a question about training and freezes after he’s stepped off the elevator; the sight of Pepper standing in the kitchen in one of Tony’s T-shirts, bare legs stretching on for miles sending a ripple of shock through him. 

She blushes and waves him over, offering him eggs and juice that he numbly refuses, smile wooden and stiff as she chatters nervously, smiling at him uncertainly till Tony emerges in boxers and an open robe, the reactor glowing from where it’s seated between his ribs. 

Pepper vanishes and Steve blushes under Tony’s scrutiny. “Still no good with dames,” he admits, looking back up when Tony laughs, something in him relaxing when he sees the amusement in Tony’s eyes. 

“They don’t really like being called dames nowadays Cap,” Tony explains with a laugh. Steve blushes again and Tony claps a hand to his shoulder, “c’mon Steve, no harm done. Now, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Steve mutters some kind of excuse and steps out from under Tony’s hand, trying to avoid the look of disappointment in the other man’s eyes and not really succeeding. He mutters something about training later and works up a smile, lips trembling as he backs away, the beginnings of a coughing fit clawing at his throat. 

He’s just barely able to hold it off till the doors to the elevator close and then he’s coughing so hard he’s doubled over, gut wrenching as he coughs and splutters and gasps for air. 

When it finally subsides and he pulls his hanky from his mouth, it’s splattered in blood and there’s… _something_ lying on the fabric, coated in blood. 

His hands shake as he washes it off, fingers trembling as he holds it up to the light and stares in wonder at the flower petal that’s seemingly come from inside his body. 

The taste of copper lies heavy on his tongue. 

* * *

It’s a daffodil petal. 

Which makes even less sense than before because he hasn’t even _seen_ a daffodil lately, what with it being February in New York. 

He debates just throwing it out, but something compels him to keep it, stored in a small cedar box that he tucks behind his socks and tries to forget about. 

The cough lingers, but he doesn’t have a fit again like the one that produced the flower, so he does his best to just ignore it. The others notice and Bruce mentions coming in for some tests, but Steve shrugs it off and reassures his teammates that he’s fine. 

With Pepper back, Tony spends less time in the lab and more traveling for SI, so much so that when Steve sees him again, it’s the end of March and the earth is beginning its slow thaw into spring. 

He sleeps less, driven to move, always move, because if he stops, he thinks about Tony’s unhappy smile and his sad eyes and how there’s nothing he can do to make it better and then he coughs and coughs and coughs. 

Steve visits Peggy and comes back to the tower feeling leaden, grief in his throat making it hard to breathe. He doesn’t pay attention to where his feet take him till he hears “Steve? What’s wrong?” and looks up to find himself in Tony’s shop.

He opens his mouth to lie and chokes on it, chest hitching as he tries to lie, and then suddenly he’s crying, swaying as his knees buckle, and Tony’s eyes widen in shock as Steve falls to his knees, _hard._

“Shit, Steve, what’s—are you— _dammit_ ,” Tony mutters, hesitating a moment before he reaches out and combs his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s the gentleness that breaks the last of his resolve, shattering him. He sobs and gasps Peggy’s name and then Tony’s, unable to form words, breathless and scared and broken. 

Tony curses again and crouches down, a blur in Steve’s teary vision. He sighs and then sits down beside Steve, shoulders to the wall, and then wraps an arm around Steve’s broad shoulders and tugs, till Steve collapses and buries his face against Tony’s shoulder. 

Tony holds him like that till his tears start to slow and his breathing comes under his control once more. A hand pets through his hair the whole time, soothing and gentle and he rubs his face into Tony’s shirt, cheeks blazing with embarrassment.

“I take it Aunt Peggy isn’t doing well?” 

Steve shakes his head and pulls away, a shudder of loss running over his frame when Tony’s hand slips from his hair. He wipes at his face and avoids Tony’s gaze; “She didn’t remember me today,” he whispers hoarsely, thirst thick and raw from his sobs. “I never thought there’d be a day where I’d see such a strong woman seem so weak,” he tells Tony. 

Tony nods and pats his knee, sighing softly. “She was an amazing woman,” he murmurs, “she always pushed me to do better, always thought I was destined for greatness,” he muses softly. 

Steve looks up and smiles weakly, “She was right,” he murmurs, “she usually was,” he says with a small, wry laugh.

Tony smiles sadly and nods, “Yea, dad never much liked being wrong, but he used to tell me that he usually was when it came to Peggy. He said she was smarter than most of the people around her and rarely got the praise she deserved.”

“She didn’t do it for the praise,” Steve replies, smiling sadly, fondly, “she did it because it was right.”

Tony nods and squeezes his knee, drawing his gaze back up. Dark eyes search his face and Steve wants to duck his head and avoid the scrutiny, but he holds fast, meeting that dark and curious gaze. 

“I can go with you next time,” Tony offers, “moral support and all that.” He looks hesitant, like he’s not sure how Steve will react, like he thinks Steve will reject him, and in that moment he realizes his much he’s been pushing his friends away—especially Tony. 

His smile is a little weak, but he nods in agreement. “Yea, I’d like that,” he agrees, heart stuttering when Tony smiles brightly at him. It feels like looking at the sun when Tony smiles like that—dazing and a little painful, but he wants to bask in its warmth anyways. 

Tony pats his knee and grins, “Great! That’s good. Are uh, are you ok?” he asks cautiously, “I mean, I know I’m not you know, good at the emotions thing, but uh, I’m here if you want to talk,” he offers, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

A tickle in his throat is his warning and he hurries to his feet, nodding and smiling unevenly, “I uh, I appreciate it Tony, but I uh, have to go, I need, I have, I have to go,” he stutters as he stumbles backward, apologizing when he bumps into Dum-E, cringing internally at the look of rejection on Tony’s face. 

He makes it back to his suite before the coughing fit takes over, wracking his body with spasms, the ache in his chest reminding him of all the times he’d nearly coughed himself to death when he was younger. 

There’s blood in his palm and a clump of something else and his hands shake when he washes them off and finds a different clump of petals than the ones before.

He has JARVIS scan them and shakes as the AI explains. _Clove flowers sir, symbolizing undying love. Daffodils symbolize unrequited love, uncertainty, a desire to have love returned._

Slumping bonelessly to the floor, he stares at the small red petals in his palm. 

Undying, unrequited love. 

He closes his fingers into a fist and crushes them, inhaling the fragrant spice they release, head falling back against the cabinet. 

He wonders if this will kill him. If losing Peggy will be his undoing, the thing that finally breaks his heart for good. 

Whatever this thing is that’s making him cough up blood and flowers, it means that he’s broken, perhaps dying, and the thought doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks it should.

He never belonged here anyway.

* * *

He finds out Bucky’s alive the same week Peggy dies and it all feels like too much—too much grief, too much hope, too much to bear. 

The team attends the funeral as some kind of moral support that in theory he appreciates, but is far too numb to actually process. Tony is on one side of the casket and he’s on the other, helping her sons to carry her down the aisle of the church. 

The casket is too light, like she’s not really in there and he panics for a moment, on the edge of dropping it and throwing the lid open to make sure she’s there, and then Tony is guiding him to his seat with a hand at the small of his back and he leans into the smaller man, throat dry and eyes aching with the urge to cry. 

He listens as Peggy’s children speak about her and wonders if they could have been his if he had just jumped from the plane before it crashed. He thinks about a lot of things, numb to his surroundings, and then suddenly Tony is squeezing his arm and giving him a questioning look that means he must have already asked Steve something. 

He searches for words and something flickers in Tony’s face; he looks past Steve and nods to the others, “Go ahead, I’ll stay with him.”

They sit in silence, incense and wax in the air and he stares at the casket where the only woman he’d ever loved lies. He doesn’t remember getting to his feet, nor does he feel himself opening the lid of the casket, all he knows is that suddenly he’s staring at her weathered face and grey curls and a sob is rising in his throat.

Tears burn down his cheeks and he curls over her, gasping her name, nonsense flowing from his lips. He labors to breathe Bucky’s name to her, to tell her what’s happened, but he can’t catch his breath and then there’s a strong arm around his waist and Tony’s familiar scent in his nose and he coughs, coughs again, and panic rises in his throat alongside the pain.

He lurches away blindly and stumbles to the bathroom, ignoring Tony’s calling of his name. Bolts the door, slumps over the sink and coughs, coughs till the porcelain stains with spatters of bright shiny crimson. Red and white petals clump together, sticky with blood and he chokes, throat tightening as he spasms and hacks. 

He’s dizzy when his throat is finally clear, swaying as his vision blurs. He can hear Tony calling his name and he hastily cleans the sink, pausing to wash the petals and shove them in his pocket. 

He doesn’t know why he does it. 

Tony pesters him when he finally emerges, worry in the lines between his brows and for once, Steve lets himself be taken care of. He leans into the arm Tony puts around his waist and lets the older man guide him out to the waiting car. 

He’s tired, so very tired and he doesn’t fight it when he leans over into Tony and rests his head on his shoulder. Tony makes some soft sound and then there’s a hand in his hair and he hums softly, eyes already falling closed as Tony murmurs something in what sounds like Italian.

It takes his mind a moment to process it through the static in his brain, and as he falls asleep he realizes what Tony has said. 

_You’re safe my dear one, I’ve got you._

* * *

They’re battling Hydra and Tony’s gone after Bucky, trying to get him back, to keep him safe, when there’s an explosion over the coms and then silence. 

Steve’s heart pounds as he flings his shield and knocks two soldiers to the snowy ground. “Check in,” he orders through gritted teeth, heart careening wildly when everyone but Tony responds. 

His fists are vicious, he’s not pulling his punches now, and he can _hear_ the life leaving the men he’s hitting, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Not when Tony’s in danger. 

He sprints in the direction Tony had gone, JARVIS guiding him through the building till he stumbles out into a room that looks straight from hell. Old blood coats the floor, rusty and tangy in the air and Steve swears he can smell the despair that’s seeped into the walls. 

The Iron Man armor lays motionless and lightless on the ground and Steve flashes back to the terror he had felt when Tony had fallen through space in a powerless suit and they had all thought him dead. 

He slides on his knees and lands beside Tony, feels for the emergency release and rips the faceplate off, gut wrenching when he sees Tony, motionless and not breathing. 

“ _Fuck_ c’mon Tony, not like this,” he pants, pulling the plating from his chest till the reactor is exposed. His chest doesn’t move, no air filling his lungs and Steve whines low in his throat, “Not like this Tony, _please.”_

He starts compressions and tilts his head back, breathing his own air into Tony’s lungs, over and over again, despair filling him as nothing happens. 

He coughs and tastes copper but doesn’t stop, breathing life into Tony’s body, willing it to work even as he coughs and spits blood before lowering his lips to Tony’s again. 

“Please Tony, don’t go,” he gasps, tears burning in his eyes, willing himself not to push too hard and break a rib. He’s careful, so so careful, because Tony is only human, breakable and precious. 

He pauses as the coughing grows worse and spits out flower petals, cursing himself as it goes on and on. He needs to breathe for Tony, needs to restart his heart but he can barely draw a breath of his own. 

Bruce is there suddenly, taking over the breathing as Steve coughs, hunched over beside Tony’s body, blood dripping from his lips, bruised and slick petals piling on the cold concrete floor. 

He sobs Tony’s name and spits, fingers curling around the armor encased arm. He closes his eyes and bows his head till his feverish brow touches the cool armor, a shudder running over his skin at the difference. 

“Please, Tony, I need you to come back,” he whispers, barely audible, throat raw and sore. 

_Please_

A great heaving breath startles him into sitting upright, shock pulsing through his veins as Tony’s big brown eyes open wide, resting on Bruce’s face for a moment before landing on Steve. 

A sobbing sound of joy rips from his chest and he wraps a gentle hand around the nape of Tony’s neck, drawing him up out of the ruined armor and into his shaking arms. 

Tony’s arms slide up his back and he shudders, “Don’t go,” he whispers, tears in his cheeks, “please don’t leave me.”

Calloused hands rub over his back and Tony tucks his face into Steve’s neck where his breath washes warmly over his cold sweat slicked skin. 

“I’m here Steve, I’m here.”

* * *

Steve finds out from Bruce he has a disease—Hanahaki, specifically. It’s contracted only by those who bear such an unrequited or unfulfilled love that their heart cannot bear it. It sounds silly and made up, but the flowers he coughs are very, _very_ real. 

“You need to tell Tony how you feel,” Bruce murmurs kindly, and it’s that—the kindness—that cuts him deeply enough that it feels like a blade between his ribs, shining and sharp. He presses a hand to his ribs, but there’s nothing there and when he looks up at Bruce, the empathy in his eyes looks more like pity and Steve can’t stand it. 

“I can’t,” he mutters, rising to his feet. “He has Pepper. He doesn’t need me, doesn’t _want_ me,” he amends, shaking his head, “I’m not what a man like Tony wants.”

Bruce sighs softly and slides his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose. “ _Steve…”_

Steve cuts him off with a shake of his head and pulls the leads off his chest monitoring his heart rate, “What’s this disease mean?” he demands, “how long will I be sick?”

Bruce sighs again and raises his hands in a helpless gesture, “I don’t know Steve. On anyone else? They’d be dead by now. For _you_? I’m guessing the serum keeps it from killing you, but it’s not enough to get rid of it while you harbor the unresolved feelings that feed the disease.”

Bruce shakes his head and smiles sadly, “I can’t give you anything to treat it because there is no treatment. Most people either die or confess and heal.” His smile fades and all that’s left is sorrow, “You know what you have to do Steve.”

Steve’s smile is tight lipped with grief, more a grimace than anything. 

“I can live with it,” he replies. 

The door is nearly shut behind him when Bruce’s soft words reach him. 

_That’s not living_

* * *

Steve stares down into the small wooden box he’s been using to save the flowers, nearly full now after almost a year. Anemones, daffodils, pink camellias and half a dozen more types that JARVIS has had to explain to him. 

He doesn’t delude himself anymore—he loves Tony, he can admit that to himself, but _never_ Tony. 

He thinks that maybe Tony knows something is wrong because the other man is distant—there’s no more joking and playful teasing. His hands don’t touch Steve unless it’s necessary and they aren’t alone together unless they both wind up in the kitchen at 3am. 

“Captain, forgive the interruption, but there is someone here for you.”

Steve looks around and frowns, it’s just after 2am and the number of people that it could be is small—Natasha and Clint are off on a mission for Fury, Tony was in his shop last Steve checked, and Bruce is…somewhere. 

“Where are they?” he asks of JARVIS and is directed down to the communal floor of the tower. When the elevator doors open his heart skips a beat, ribs tightening so hard it feels like he can’t breathe. 

“Bucky?”

His best friend looks wary and nervous, but he nods faintly, face partially obscured by his long hair and ball cap pulled down low. His grey blue eyes flicker around the room, cataloging every potential weapon and point of entry. 

Bucky’s gaze lands on him and softens. “Hey punk,” he murmurs softly and Steve’s breath sobs out, chest aching with the urge to go and hug him. 

It must show in his face because Bucky smirks faintly and waves a beckoning hand and then Steve’s hugging him and Bucky is hugging him back and he can’t fight the tears that stream down his face. 

“Uhhh…”

Steve jerks back and wipes at his face, smiling shakily at a dumbfounded Tony. “Tony, this is Bucky.”

Tony nods, face pale, gaze flickering between them, something in his eyes that Steve can’t identify. His posture changes, shifting into the man Steve sees in front of the cameras and for the life of him, he can’t figure out _why._

“Welcome to Casa Avenger,” Tony says brightly, “if you need anything give JARVIS a shout. Hey J man say hello to Manchurian Candidate here,” he calls and Steve frowns at the reference, but from behind him he hears Bucky snort out a laugh. 

“Very pleased to meet you Sergeant Barnes. Welcome home. If you need anything, please let me know.”

Tony nods and claps his hands together, smile too bright and too wide. “Right, well I assume you’ll want to stay with Steve, long lost whatever and all. I’ll see you later kids, don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Before Steve has a chance to question Tony’s oddness, the other man is gone, the only bit of him left behind the faint scent of metal and smoke on the air. 

Something in his chest aches and he coughs, eyes falling shut for a moment as he sighs, trying to swallow down the urge to keep coughing. 

It fades, but Steve knows it won’t stay gone for long. 

* * *

Bucky settles in easily enough, Natasha greets him with a pleased smile and a hug, whispering _Yasha,_ a name he hasn’t heard in so long it gives him pause for a moment. 

Tony is endlessly fascinated by his arm, taking x rays and scans while quizzing him for details till Bucky is sure they’ve exhausted the topic. A few weeks pass before Tony announces at dinner with the team that he can upgrade the arm and fix the nerve damage done by Hydra.

Bucky sees Steve stare at the older man with eyes so filled with love Bucky thinks that maybe he’ll finally grab the man and kiss him, but he doesn’t, he ducks his head and swallows hard, a cough rattling out of his throat a moment later. 

When the coughing continues they all watch as Steve abandons the table, long legs eating up the distance to the elevator. Bucky follows, takes the stairs instead and cuts Steve off as he heads for the bathroom in their suite. 

Steve tries to push past but a wave of coughing so strong it doubles him over hits and Bucky grabs his arm, holding him up as he coughs and chokes. “What the fuck kid? Your asthma come back?” he demands, frowning when Steve shakes his head but can’t respond.

The coughing grows more intense before finally ending and when Steve pulls his hand away from his mouth Bucky’s horrified to see blood on his lips. 

“ _Steve_ ,” he gasps, “what the hell?” 

Steve shakes his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “It’s fine Buck, it’s just a cough.” He smiles weakly and Bucky can see the tremor in his lips—Steve always was a bad liar. 

“You’re still a shit liar,” he snaps, “now, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

Steve stares at him for a long moment and then sighs, shoulders slumping. His eyes turn stormy and sorrowful and his smile is sad and small when he explains. 

When he’s finished, Bucky doesn’t know if he wants to cry or laugh. 

“You goddamn fool,” he says softly, not unkindly. 

Steve’s smile quivers and his big blue eyes shine with unshed tears. He nods, and Bucky can tell he can’t speak through his feelings—something he knows a little bit about, so he gathers his punk best friend into his arms and holds him as he cries, his own heart feeling like it’s breaking. 

* * *

“Instead of plating and ridges it’s going to be one single cast of vibranium nanites,” Tony explains, “clothes and skin won’t get caught in it and the weight should be about 300% lighter. It’ll help the strain it’s been putting on your spine and lungs.”

Bucky nods and watches as Tony plays with the hologram, showing him all the ways his new arm will be better. 

“It’ll also be vibration sensitive and register temperature in the same way a bio arm would. I’m sure Spangles will appreciate that—no one likes surprise temperature play.”

It takes a second to register what Tony’s talking about and when it does Bucky bursts out laughing—laughs so hard it takes a minute for him to calm down, and damn, it feels good to laugh like that again. 

“You think?” he cracks up again and pauses, trying to collect himself. “Me and _Stevie_?” he says, incredulous. 

Tony frowns at him, “Yea, you’re like, practically married, I mean, c’mon it’s kinda obvious.”

Bucky laughs so hard he cries. 

When he finally calms himself he explains to Tony that no, he’s not _practically married_ because Steve is his brother in arms, his best friend, nothing more. 

“He doesn’t love me like that,” he tells Tony, pausing for a moment before murmuring, “you might try asking him out yourself.”

Tony whirls to stare at him, wide eyed and panicked. 

“W-why would I do that?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky grins at the other man and shakes his head, “You two are the biggest idiots in love I’ve ever seen.”

He can hear Tony spluttering behind him as he walks away, and he can’t help the low chuckle that slips out.

“Good luck Romeo!” he calls over his shoulder, grinning when Tony makes a choked noise and something large clatters to the floor. 

Now if they can just get their heads out of their asses, Bucky thinks maybe they’ll end up happily ever after or something equally romantic and nauseating for everyone else to be around. 

He pauses on the stairs and examines that thought—Steve is a stubborn little shit prone to doing exactly the opposite just for spite. 

This might take more time than he thought. 

* * *

Tony does what he does best when presented with a problem he doesn’t understand—he researches.

He starts with security footage for the last year with he and Steve and asks JARVIS to assess their facial expressions and body language for any consistent pattern. 

He tries to tinker and distract himself but at some point he has to at least admit to himself that it’s not going to happen, so he sets aside his tools and sits, watching the footage from the past year. 

JARVIS slows the footage for him and he smiles softly, watching as Steve shows him how to improve his stance during a sparring session. He remembers the way Steve had smiled at him when he’d—

He laughs and watches himself flip Steve onto his back, the look of surprise in the larger man’s eyes making his chest ache with fondness. 

There’s a moment where Tony wipes off his face with a towel and now, as an outside observer, he can see the look in Steve’s eyes as he stares at Tony-on-the-screen. 

The pure affection and pride shining from those radiant eyes makes his breath stutter—he didn’t know Steve could see him like that. 

“JARVIS, catalogue every expression on Steve’s face when we’re together or when I’m mentioned in conversation. I want a breakdown of emotions and a data spread on how often those emotions are expressed over time.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the video blurs as JARVIS extrapolates data. Tony paces, unsure if the thing clutching at his guts is fear or hope—hope for what, he wonders, because even in the quiet moments when he lets himself think that maybe Steve feels something more than just friendship for him, he can’t quite allow that hope to solidify.

His experience has taught him a lot—don’t sleep with Ty Stone, always buy custom, and never trust anyone. 

There’s a small handful of people that he trusts, but even those few have terms and conditions. 

Pepper wants him to stop being Iron Man and settle down into a safe domestic life and it’s not that he _doesn’t_ want that, because the idea of children and domestic bliss is appealing as hell, it’s just that…he is and always will be Iron Man. 

Rhodey too has encouraged him to slow down, take a break, to savor the softer, sweeter moments in life and a part of Tony wishes he could, wishes he could just set aside this piece of himself, but it would be like removing his heart and trying to function without it. 

If he did that he’d be no better than a tin man; heartless and hopeless. 

Steve…he doesn’t know what Steve wants. 

“Sir? Results rendered.”

* * *

“Now It’s all just speculation at this point, but that looks _very_ much like an engagement ring, wouldn’t you agree Kacee?”

“Oh my god, you’re so right Adele, and look at the size of it!”

“Well, would you really expect anything else from Tony Stark? He’s a billionaire! Though it does look vintage—OH! I wonder if it’s his mother’s!”

“OH MY GOD that’s so sweet!”

Steve stares at the tv, gut churning as two perky news hosts—though he doesn’t think this tabloid trash counts as _news_ —squeal over the ring that Pepper is sporting on her left middle finger. 

They’re not wrong—it _does_ look like an engagement ring. 

His throat goes tight and dry and he coughs and coughs and coughs until his throat is raw and he’s wheezing, laboring for breath. 

“Now onto the real question—will there be children??” 

He falls to his knees and curls over, retching and gasping as flower petals spatter to the floor. He tastes blood and groans, inhaling wetly before spitting it out onto the hardwood floor.

“OMG can you imagine Tony Stark as a _dad_?? Ooo can you say _daddy?!”_

Steve hacks wetly, choking and gasping as yet more flowers come out, eyes watering as he struggles to breathe, and some part of him thinks _this is it, I’m going to die,_ and it shouldn’t feel like relief, but it does. 

“I’m guessing it’ll be a spring wedding, we all know Pepper has fantastic taste, and if there is a reason for it to be uh, _urgent_ , I’m sure she’d want the dress to look as sleek as possible.”

His vision goes blurry as he struggles for air, head pounding as his diaphragm spasms. It hurts so bad, worse than anything he’s felt in a very long time and with the last of the air in his lungs, he sobs out a strangled gasp of Tony’s name and collapses. 

“Well I’ll say this, it’ll be the wedding of the century. This is American royalty!”

A petal clings wetly to his lip, fluttering faintly as he exhales slowly, eyes falling closed. 

“A true love story for the ages.”

* * *

“Steve?”

He’s knocked three times already and Steve hasn’t answered and Tony’s starting to wonder if the man is just straight out avoiding him. 

“Sir, Captain Rogers is having a medical emergency, I am overriding personal privacy settings to allow you in.”

 _Medical emergency?_ Can Steve even _have_ those? 

Fear pierces his heart and when the door slides open, Tony steps inside Steve’s suite, gaze flickering around the living area and kitchen as he calls his name urgently. 

“Behind the couch sir.”

The TV is playing some tabloid show, and it barely registers that they’re talking about him and Pepper before he sees Steve’s feet sticking out and then he’s lunging forward, heart pounding too fast, chest aching when he sees the pool of blood on the floor. 

He falls to his knees beside the broad form and it dimly registers that Steve isn’t breathing. Panic floods his veins and his hands shake as he struggles to flip Steve onto his back. 

“Vitals J!”

“Captain Rogers is not breathing sir, his airway is obstructed and his heart has stopped. Clinical brain death will occur in two minutes if his heart is not restarted.”

Tony inhales sharply and looks around wildly for the first aid kit installed in each suite. The red of it by the elevator doors makes his heart skip and he lurches to his feet, stumbling as he runs to it and rips it from the wall. 

He’s back at Steve’s side and he distantly notes the blood staining his jeans, _Steve’s blood_ , and it makes his gut wrench, but he _can’t_ , he can’t focus on that right now. 

Buttons fly as he rips open Steve’s shirt and attaches the leads to the defibrillator to his chest. He tilts Steve’s head back and uses the tweezers from within the kit to pull a clump of something from his throat, wet and red and shiny. 

“J!?”

“Airway clear. Administer one shock to the heart and then three breaths.”

Tony nods jerkily and presses the button to the defibrillator, wincing when it fires, Steve’s broad chest jumping violently. 

“Again sir.”

Tony fights back a whimper and breaths into Steve’s lungs, his lips coming away tasting like blood and then watches as an electric shock is applied to Steve’s heart. 

“C’mon Steve, don’t go,” he whispers, cupping his cheek with shaking fingers. His skin is cool to the touch and his lips are pale and he’s still—too still for a man so normally filled with life. 

“Please Steve, don’t leave me,” he pleads against Steve’s lips, pushing the oxygen into his body like it’s a prayer, a desperate plea to the fire that burns in Steve’s chest, to the thing that gives him life and makes him the man Tony loves. 

_Oh god…_ Tony sobs as the shock runs again, higher this time. “I love you Steve, don’t you dare go into that fucking light,” he threatens, shaking Steve’s shoulder none too gently. 

“You don’t get to leave me,” he gasps, his own lungs aching from the harsh expell of air into Steve’s pliant mouth. “Not yet Steve, not yet.”

The shock is so high it makes Steve’s back bow off the ground and Tony sobs as he watches, gut writhing with terror. 

Steve still isn’t breathing. 

He’s failed.

Sobbing, he collapses, brow pressing to Steve’s, tears falling from his face to the cool skin of Steve’s. 

“I’m sorry Steve, I’m sorry, please, come back. Please, I love you.”

He kisses Steve’s mouth and shudders at how yielding it is, how there’s no life or warmth to the lips he’s thought about so often he could map them out without ever having touched them. 

The pain in his chest feels like he’s back in the cave with Yinsen—he’s being cracked open, sternum to stomach, and his soft insides are spilling out.

He didn’t know love could hurt like this.

_“Tony?”_

His breath catches on his lips, heart thundering with hope that’s so painful it makes him want to vomit it up, expel it from his body so he doesn’t feel like this anymore. 

He’s shaking as he pulls back, and when he sees Steve’s eyes are open, watching him, he lifts a shaking hand to press against the broad plane of his chest, a sob wracking his chest when he feels a steady heartbeat beneath his palm.

Steve’s hand shakes when it cups his cheek and Tony leans into it, tears on his cheeks as Steve cradles his face, murmuring Tony’s name like a prayer. 

Tony turns his chin and presses his lips to Steve’s palm, smiling shakily. When he leans down to kiss Steve he can feel the surprise in his broad form for a long moment before he melts into it, into Tony.

They’re both breathing unsteadily when they part, and Tony’s lips taste like salt and copper and Steve. 

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Tony pleads, chest hitching with emotion. 

Steve shakes his head gently, brows pressed together, hands holding Tony close. 

“Never,” he agrees. 

* * *

_Captain America and Iron Man—The superhero romance no one saw coming!!_

_Captain America GAY??? Scandal strikes superhero!_

_Pepper Potts abandoned for a **gay** love affair!! Heartbreak in America! _

Tony snorts and tosses aside the tablet, the soft thump of it against the duvet barely noticeable in the big cushy bed. 

Steve stirs beside him and he rolls over eagerly, watching with awe as the man he loves wakes slowly. 

Long, fine lashes flutter first, followed by a slow inhale and then a stretch that reminds Tony of a cat. He’s smiling softly by the time Steve’s eyes are half open, reaching out to brush his thumb gently against Steve’s plush lower lip.

“Morning beloved,” he whispers, a flush on his cheeks at the easy way he’s so soft and affectionate with Steve. Pet names fall from his lips like water these days, and the way Steve blushes at them and leans toward him like a flower chasing the sun never fails to make his heart skip a beat. 

This morning is no different; Steve flushes pink and shifts his chin to kiss Tony’s thumb and then his palm. 

“Morning love,” he whispers back, already reaching out to pull Tony closer. 

Tony goes easily, contentment in his heart. Lips pressing to Steve’s throat, he hums softly, eyes falling shut. 

“How you feeling?”

It’s the same question he’s been asking for three weeks now—every few hours it seems, but Tony can’t really help it. 

Steve died. 

He died and Tony almost lost him. 

“Perfect. Happy. In love.”

Tony smiles softly and kisses his throat again, listening to the steady sounds of Steve breathing. Sometimes he lays awake at night listening to it, scared it’ll stop and he’ll be alone again. 

“With me?”

Steve laughs softly, “Yea Tony, with you.” A broad hand spreads over his back and pulls him closer so they’re pressed together with barely an inch of space left. 

“I love you.”

Tony’s throat flutters and it feels hard to breath for a moment. 

“I love you too.”

The words taste like Steve’s skin, warm and reassuring. He holds them close, tucks them into his heart and saves them for them days when he’s not sure he knows how to breath on his own. 

His lungs are filled with Steve, with the life he’d breathed into Tony all those months ago when he’d saved his life. 

Steve’s chest rises and falls, Tony’s life force inside him, giving that big beautiful heart what it needs to beat.

Tony inhales slowly, a smile on his lips. 


End file.
